


be my dar(jee)ling

by takeittothestars



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Human, Anti-3B Fluff, Derek POV, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-08 19:31:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takeittothestars/pseuds/takeittothestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘You alright there? Need any help?’ someone from behind him says, and Derek startles badly from where he’s been judging the tea (Cardamom with ginger for Sherlock Holmes? And almonds for Jack Harkness? Really?). The person laughs when he knocks over a few tins, and Derek knows that laugh. Sure enough, he looks up as he puts Moriartea back on the shelf and it’s Stiles fucking Stilinski, #24 on the lacrosse team and captain of Derek’s heart since he dropped Cora off at a game once, the cutest, hottest thing on the planet since – since – since ever, if Derek’s honest with himself.</p><p>-</p><p>A tea shop AU in which Derek is an editor, Stiles works in a tea shop, both are dumb, and there is tea. For <a href="http://swingsetindecember.tumblr.com/post/70323613024/stiles-working-at-juliette-its-listed-as-being">this prompt</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_If you’ve had a long day of dealing with incompetence, then DAMMIT from our Tea Trek collection is for you!_ the sign in the window of Juliette screams. Derek pauses on his way down the street, considers the message for a second, before he shrugs and pushes the lavender door open. It’s Laura’s birthday soon, and if the angry Snapchats she sends him from her fancy new job at a law firm in New York are any indication, she ‘might actually die if these doorknobs keep working with me’.

The least he can do is buy her some tea.

Juliette is owned by Ms Kirkpatrick, who is fifty, named the shop after her lover, and dyes her hair a different pastel shade every year and paints the door to match. Derek’s avoided it ever since it opened two years ago; he doesn’t trust women with cotton candy hair with his tea.

It’s late afternoon, so the shop’s completely empty when Derek walks in and heads straight for the corner in the back, a black shelf amongst a sea of mint green. He picks up the  _Dammit_  tea advertised in the front window before stepping back and considering the rest of the display:  _One Tea to Rule Them All, The Chosen Tea, TARDIS Tea_ … Derek lets out a chuckle at  _B-TEA-SM_ and picks it up for Isaac.

‘You alright there? Need any help?’ someone from behind him says, and Derek startles badly from where he’s been judging the tea (Cardamom with ginger for Sherlock Holmes? And almonds for Jack Harkness?  _Really?)_. The person laughs when he knocks over a few tins, and Derek  _knows_ that laugh.

Sure enough, he looks up as he puts  _Moriartea_ back on the shelf and it’s Stiles fucking Stilinski, #24 on the lacrosse team and captain of Derek’s heart since he dropped Cora off at a game once, the cutest, hottest thing on the planet since – since – since ever, if Derek’s honest with himself.

‘I’m fine,’ Derek says hastily. ‘I’ll just take this.’ He hesitates and looks at the menu behind the board. He knows Juliette offers free wi-fi, and sometimes when he drives by he sees it full of college students alternately cramming and crying into tea. He’s got a manuscript in his bag, so it’s really just being a diligent editor that makes him say, ‘And that Darjeeling behind you.’

‘Sure thing, dude!’

Stiles turns and reaches up for the tea. His black polo shirt moves with him, clinging to his impossibly broad shoulders and riding up just a little, and, oh god, he has  _dimples on his back._ ‘And you’re taking those two as well? That’ll be $24.38.’ Derek frowns at the price and a small voice of reason at the back of his head reminds him of his tea cupboard back home and the new tablet he wants to buy. He looks down at the counter, where Stiles’ long fingers are tapping out a beat, this one prominent vein traveling up his forearm, and shoves his money over. 

*

Derek comes back to Juliette the next day for lunch. He glares at a table of 12-year old girls until they leave, and Stiles laughs delightedly behind the counter. It shouldn’t make a pleased flush rise in Derek’s cheeks, but, well, Derek probably shouldn’t be crushing on a teenager in the first place.

He does the same thing for a week, going through a different type of tea each day and cycling through the pastries Stiles recommends. Stiles always drops by his table to top up his tea with a smile, and his cheeks are always pink when he does so. Derek can see why; Juliette is busier than he expected for a tea shop, and Stiles and his coworker are constantly running around frantically.

By the end of that week, Derek has graduated to interactions with Stiles that could be classified as ‘friendly stranger’ as opposed to ‘complete stranger’. It’s an improvement which makes him want to backflip everywhere.

On Monday Derek walks in the door and Stiles smiles, says ‘Hi, Derek’, and Derek smiles back, heart going pitter-patter and all number of cartoon clichés. He asks for muffin suggestions and Stiles starts gesturing with his hands, and it’s all Derek can do to nod and hum thoughtfully, and not look like he wants to do unspeakable things to Stiles’ hands. Shit, now he’s thinking of Stiles’ hands in bed, pinning Derek’s wrists back, slick and shiny and disappearing into - himself?  _Derek?_  He snaps his head up and forces himself to order a carrot cake muffin with buttercream frosting before retreating to his table and burying his face in his hands. What has he become? Fantasising about barely legal men (boys?) in tea shops? Just one, though, he reminds himself. One who alternates between a black polo shirt and a black button-up, and likes honey in his tea but has to have coffee in the mornings too, and honestly kind of oversteeps his tea too. Derek’s vaguely disgusted at himself.

'How are you doing today?' Stiles asks. The curve of his wrist looks impossibly graceful as he pours milk into Derek's tea, and his brain short circuits a little at the thought that Stiles knows how he likes his tea.

'You oversteep your tea,' Derek mumbles. Wait, shit, he didn't mean to say that - but the damage is already done.

‘Then leave,’ Stiles says easily, and turns as the bell hanging over the door announces another customer. Derek stares morosely at his carrot cake muffin. The orange frosting heart on the top is mocking him. He smushes it with his thumb, and can’t even bring himself to watch Stiles’ ass as he walks away.

So Stiles doesn’t like him. That’s fine. Derek’s a grown man; he can deal with it. He could’ve maybe dealt with it a little better if Stiles weren’t so blunt with his rejection, but it’s still fine. Juliette has a good atmosphere for working, and if he can’t get, well, Stiles out of his patronage, he can at least finish his edits.

*

Stiles’ heart still leaps into his chest every time he sees Derek walk through the door of Juliette. He would never have pegged Derek Hale as a tea-lover, but what does he know about the guy? He’s only ever seen him through mutual friend Facebook pictures or high school yearbook photos and that brief, glorious one-week period where his Instagram account was set to public. The drunk party photos alone were enough to fuel a year’s worth of wet dreams, let alone the video where his sister stole his phone and posted him snuffling into his pillow. He thinks they’ve gotten to a good point after his week of lunches, where Stiles can smile at him and Derek will respond – but then, well, of course something goes wrong. Par for the course.

He can tell Derek didn’t mean to say what he said about his tea (hell, he agrees with him, but he can’t be blamed for it - Derek putting on his glasses, just Derek in general, is incredibly distracting.), and responds easily enough, trying not to throw himself at the man while he’s at it. Even his  _ears_ are adorable, Jesus fuck.

Derek doesn’t get a chance to respond before Stiles is already helping out the next batch of customers, but he glances over anyway and tries to catch Derek’s eye. Instead, he watches Derek glare at the heart he frosted on top of the muffin, and he’s ready to fall to the floor and wail when Derek pushes his thumb into it. As it is, he settles for texting Scott as his heart sinks:  _so_   _derek hale hates me and is probably straight or anti stiles sexual help me :((_

_*_

‘So who’re you pining after now?’ Laura asks, her voice slightly tinny through the phone. ‘Sorry,’ she adds, a car honking in the distance, ‘just got off the subway.’

‘I’m not – No one.’ Derek shifts his weight, wishes the line at Juliette were a little shorter, if only just so he could stop this conversation.

‘Of course,’ Laura says disbelievingly.

‘I’m not,’ he repeats. ‘You don’t even know what I’m doing, we don’t even live together anymore, how would you know if I started seeing someone?’

‘Your emails,’ she sing-songs.

‘What,’ Derek says, horrified. He can’t even bring himself to make fun of his 26-year old sister for singing like they’re on the playground again. Shit. He racks his brain for the daily emails his siblings all exchange with one another and, no, he  _swears_  he covered up his tracks. He didn’t even mention Juliette.

 ‘When you don’t want us to know something you always get weird and talkative in your emails, did you know that? Nate pointed it out.’ Damn his younger brother. Derek never should’ve encouraged his love for Sherlock Holmes. ‘Usually you give us a list of everything you did that week, maybe a complaint about the latest Game of Thrones episode if we’re lucky – But the other day? That was a paragraph of your thoughts on Hawaii’s plastic bag ban, and a synopsis of the book you’re editing. So, you’re hiding something.’

‘I’m sick. Horrifically sick,’ Derek says. The line’s short enough now that Stiles can hear him, and he throws Derek a slightly worried look as he takes a customer’s cash. Derek shakes his head back in reply, and Stiles wipes imaginary sweat off his forehead with a grin. He looks ridiculously dumb; Derek is ridiculously charmed.

‘You sound fine to me.’

‘It’s a broken leg. I didn’t want you guys to worry.’

‘I’m your emergency contact, Der. And the nurse I hooked up with calls me every time one of you gets called in.’

‘You slept with Bobby?’ Derek says, scandalized. Bobby was on Derek’s high school baseball team.  _Derek_ slept with Bobby.

‘Relax,’ Laura laughs, ‘Not the guy you fucked.’

‘How do you know Bobby and I slept together?’ Derek demands. There’s a clattering sound behind the counter and Derek looks up just in time to see a small mountain of plastic cups fall to the floor. He smiles fondly as Stiles’ face goes bright red and he hurries to pick them up, apologizing frantically while his coworker steps forward.

‘His sister and I were friends. Back to your guy, though.’

‘What guy,’ Derek says. He laughs, and hopes it doesn’t sound like he’s choking. ‘There’s no guy.’

‘Guys? Girls? Girl? Both? Someone gender-fluid? Oh, I know why you’re being so secretive, it’s a forbidden relationship. You’re banging a MILF.’

Derek grinds his teeth. Laura has this awful but ingenious method of pestering him until he gives in and tells her everything, just to make her shut up. Not this time, though. He will be strong.

‘Not a MILF, then? A DILF? Is it an affair? Or, oh my god, are you banging them  _both?’_

‘Next!’ Stiles’ coworker – Nicky? – calls.

Derek sighs in relief, mutters a ‘Bye, love you,’ to a disgruntled squawk, and shoves his phone in his pocket.

‘What’ll it be today, Derek?’

‘How do you know my name?’ he asks, slightly taken aback. He frowns, and she smiles back, the white of her teeth blindingly white against her brown skin as she leans forward earnestly. He glances at her nametag – Nicole. He was close.

‘You’re a very prized customer here, Derek,’ she says, ‘of course I know your name. I even know other things. Like the way you frown at your tea before you take your first sip, the elbow pads on the sweater you wear sometimes, the tight –’

Stiles skids across the floor and pushes her behind him, blushing furiously. She laughs, snorting a little, and Derek, feeling more than a little bemused, smiles. Weirdly enough, Stiles’ cheeks go even pinker.

‘Hey, what can I get for you today?’

‘The citron green, please. And a lemon bar.’

‘Those are Stiles’ favourite,’ Nicole says, poking her head out from behind Stiles. ‘He likes sci-fi too. Little weird during horror though, clings to you like a limpet.’

‘Nicole Victoria Gandhi,’ Stiles says, voice dangerously low, ‘I am taking all the tips if you don’t shut the fuck up, right fucking now.’

*

Derek may have spoken too soon about progressing from ‘complete stranger’ to ‘friendly stranger’. He might even have regressed from ‘complete stranger’ to ‘strange and rude tea shop patron’, judging from the looks Nicole gives him whenever he walks in, like she’s trying desperately not to laugh at the absolutely pathetic sliver of hope he’s still clinging to, even after a month, despite all the hints Stiles keeps throwing his way to just leave and take his business elsewhere.

So Derek takes the hint, and starts getting his tea in a to-go tumbler, only staying long enough for it to brew. Stiles’ hand brushes against his sometimes, and it makes the hairs on his arm stand, goose bumps rising as Stiles beams and tells him to have a nice day. It makes him want to smile too, but immediately afterwards his throat seizes up under the weight of  _not this one, not this time, nope._ He doesn’t even know why he’s so hung up on this guy, it’s not like he’s anything special – no, his brain interjects, that’s false.

Of course he knows why he’s so hung up on this guy that he barely knows. It’s because Stiles is special, Stiles is more than special, Stiles is  _wonderful._  His eyes crinkle a little when he smiles and he has the cutest little nose that Derek wants to poke or kiss or bite, and sometimes when he looks down his eyelashes fan out in a way that makes him look like a sculpture from the Louvre. Even if he weren’t a living Bernini, he’s funny too, and friendly and nice and really, really unhealthy for Derek’s general wellbeing.

‘I hate myself,’ Derek mutters under his breath, lost in contemplation of Stiles biceps in a tight black t-shirt once again. Today, he decides abruptly, is the last day he will come to Juliette for his tea. He’s been here everyday for a month now. He needs to stop. He is 24, in control of his life, and stopping, right now.

He’s not sure if the decision is a weight off his shoulders or a devastating piece of news.

‘Hey,’ Stiles says, grinning. ‘What’ll it be today?’

‘Surprise me,’ Derek says, thinking that maybe he’ll be adventurous, maybe Stiles will at least remember him in a month if he does something weird today.

Stiles’ eyebrows jump. ‘Really?’

Derek nods, shrugs.

‘Sweet, dude, you won’t regret it.’ He beams and whips around, grabs a few tins off the shelf and starts adding them to a strainer as he hums and wiggles his hips to an Ingrid Michaelson song. Derek’s resolve to stay away strengthens; being around this kind of thing is bad for his health. Let the other teenage college students have Stiles. At least he’ll have his dignity. At least he won't have a permanent boner. The silver linings in life. ‘I’m really proud of this one,’ Stiles says over his shoulder as he pours water in, ‘I tried to get it right for weeks. You’re my first public guinea pig.’

‘Am I allowed to know what’s in it?’

‘‘Course not, you asked to be surprised.’ He hands Derek’s tumbler over, a quiet ‘Careful, it’s hot,’ as he looks up through his eyelashes. ‘Try it,’ he says.

Derek takes a sip. It’s hot, kind of scalding actually, but – ‘It’s good.’

‘Don’t sound so surprised, asshole,’ Stiles says, but Derek’s already closing his eyes and tipping it back, letting out a sigh as the orange notes, the hint of Darjeeling, the feeling of hugs and home and holding hands on the first crisp days of autumn warming his belly.

‘Mm, this is great,’ he says finally, opening his eyes to the sight of Stiles staring open-mouthed.

‘R-Right, thanks.’

‘Really, it is,’ Derek insists. He smiles and slides a ten dollar bill across the counter. ‘Keep the change. Thanks, Stiles.’

And that’s it, he thinks as he pushes the door open. That’s it. 


	2. Chapter 2

‘You know what,’ Stiles says, storming through the door of Peet’s, ‘that’s it. That’s it!’ He jabs a finger at Derek, who blinks at him from his table.

‘We close in fifteen, guys,’ Isaac says from behind the counter.

‘Don’t want to hear it, Scarfy. Now, you – you complete asshat!’

Derek blinks some more. Opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. ‘I – um, I’m sorry?’ he tries. He’s just finished editing _Helga, Kira, and the One-Eyed Man,_ a book about a crime-saving girl and her ghost best friend, and he feels satisfied and entirely unequipped to deal with whatever this is. Stiles’ cheeks are tinged pink from the slight chill as December descends upon Berkeley and his mouth tenses as he rolls his eyes viciously at Derek. The mere sight of him makes Derek’s insides feel all funny, like butterflies are waking up again, throwing themselves around in a frenzy.

‘Damn right you are! You’re the worst, I can’t even believe you! _’_ He throws out his hands in frustration, and Derek scowls at the sudden onslaught.

‘No, wait, I’m not sorry,’ he says slowly. He folds his arms and leans back in his chair.  ‘Why do I even need to be sorry?’

‘For leaving!’

‘Leaving?’

‘Leaving Juliette! All of a sudden you just disappeared and, okay, I know you hate me, but you were a great customer and we miss you and you cannot be taking your business to _Peet’s,_ okay, that’s just –’

‘Stiles, you’re the one who hates me!’

‘No, _you_ hate _me!’_

‘I told you you oversteep your tea,’ Derek insists, ‘and that the lavender in the Earl Grey mix you made was the dumbest idea since the Percy Jackson movie.’

‘Exactly.’ Stiles grins, smug, and Derek frowns.

‘No, that’s why you hate me.’

‘I hate you because you hate me?’

‘I don’t even hate you at all,’ Derek huffs.

‘Oh, yeah? Then why’d you stop coming here?’ Stiles challenges. He juts out his chin at Derek, daring him to answer, and Derek blanches.

‘Uh –’

‘Yeah, that’s what I thought.’

‘No! I had, uh, a business trip.’

Stiles raises his eyebrows, unimpressed. ‘Nice try. So, you hate me. It’s cool, man. Well, it’s not cool, but I can deal.’

‘I don’t hate you!’

‘You totally do.’ Stiles raises his hand, starts checking off points on his fingers. ‘You’re always frowning inside the store, you complain about our tea, you look like you’re in pain whenever you talk to me –’

And okay, yeah, so Derek does do all of those things. Sue him, he doesn’t act well under pressure to be _cool_ or _collected_ or whatever it is adults do to get dates. He stands up so that he and Stiles are only a few feet apart, points his own accusing finger. ‘Well, what about you? You’re the one that hates me, you’re the one who always complained about me. I _heard_ you say to Nicole that you hated me.’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ Stiles scoffs. ‘I’ve never said anything like that that.’

‘You said you hated me and my dumb, stupid everything.’

All of a sudden Stiles’ face turns bright red. ‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘I’m not sure how many different things ‘I hate him and his dumb, stupid everything’ can mean.’

Stiles’ eyes flash before he closes them and grits his teeth. ‘I didn’t mean I actually hated you. Kind of the opposite, actually. And I'd like for you to come back so we can, you know, hang out. And stuff.' Stiles’ cheeks are bright red even though his words are confident, and Derek does his best to tamp down on the smile he feels rising.

‘Okay,’ he says. ‘So I’ll come back. And we can hang out, and stuff.’

Stiles grins, like he can't believe it went that easily, and steps closer for a hug but shit, wait, Derek’s hands are all sweaty and he thinks there might be chocolate syrup on his front and he doesn’t know how to deal with the prospect of Stiles’ body all up against him, should he clap him on the back or pat or – and then Stiles’ arms are around him.

‘Relax,’ he says, huffing into Derek’s ear, ‘it’s just a hug.’

Tentatively, Derek raises his arms and places them on Stiles’ waist. ‘Is this okay?’

‘You’re doing great,’ Stiles says, and Derek does relax, feels the tension start to bleed out of his shoulders where Stiles’ hands are on him. It’s starting to get past the acceptable time period for a strictly platonic hug when Stiles jerks and pulls away. ‘Sorry, but I hope I’ll, uh, see you around?’

‘Definitely, of course.’ Derek smiles, blushing at the way Stiles is looking at him, intent and almost fond.

‘Fuck,’ Stiles mumbles, and then he’s ducking forward and curling his hand around Derek’s neck, pressing his lips to his. There’s a ringing in Derek’s head and what, _what is going on_ , only before he can do anything at all, Stiles stumbles back like he’s been shocked. ‘Fuck,’ he repeats, and he stares at Derek, wild-eyed. ‘Sorry. Sorry,’ he says again, before turning and leaving, a cold gust of air coming through the door as it falls shut.

Derek lifts his hand to his face, runs his fingers across his bottom lip as he looks outside the door. Stiles was here. _Stiles’ lips_ were here. Derek’s lips are wet with – Stiles. Holy shit.

‘Holy shit,’ he murmurs, looking wonderingly at his fingertips.

Isaac clears his throat, and Derek jumps, shoving his hands in his pockets guiltily. ‘That was the weirdest fucking thing,’ Isaac says, slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder. He wraps a scarf around his neck, adjusts it judgmentally. ‘Care to explain?’

 

*

Derek returns to Juliette like he said he would, gives the shop a cautious once-over as he steps through the door the next day. He’s not sure how he should act around Stiles, despite lying awake running through all the different scenarios, and he’s been feeling jittery and tense all morning.

‘Hey, Derek!’ Stiles says, looking surprised. He waves from behind the counter, a little jerk of a movement, and his smile stretches wide across his face. Suddenly Derek feels like he’s going to throw up. The butterflies – can he call them that? They feel more like pterodactyls – are revolting, attacking his insides, and he should probably just leave, Stiles had a temporary bout of insanity last night, he’ll tell Derek he really hates him, everything will fall to pieces, Derek is suddenly a pre-teen again. Fuck.

‘Didn’t think we’d see you again,’ Nicole says. She smirks, and the sharp wings of her eyeliner are suddenly quite menacing to look at.

‘Lemon bar and pu’er, please,’ Derek says, doing his best to sound like he’s not choking.

‘Coming right up.' She turns to prepare his order, and Derek’s left staring across the counter at Stiles.

‘Hi,’ he says.

‘Hi.’ Stiles laughs and rubs the back of his neck. Derek’s eyes definitely don’t stray to the happy trail his shirt reveals when it rides up. ‘I really didn’t think you’d actually show up today, dude. Colour me surprised.’

Derek shrugs. ‘I like your tea.’ He hesitates, looks at Stiles, who’s smiling because of _him_ , he realises, and blurts, ‘the company’s not bad either.’

‘Yeah?’ His smile grows, and Derek smiles back, helpless to do anything but stare. ‘Listen,’ Stiles says, ‘about yesterday…’ and just like that Derek’s jolted back to reality.

‘It’s fine,’ he says hastily. ‘Forget it.’

‘Right, yeah, okay. Um. We’re cool though?’

‘We’re cool.’ Derek nods, a little crestfallen despite his best efforts to keep his head firmly on straight and not run away with itself to a land of love confessions. Stiles, obviously relieved, slides Derek’s tea across the counter.

‘Good. I’m glad.’

Derek smiles wordlessly, beats a hasty retreat to his table with his tea. He gets out his next manuscript, and thinks that this is all really, actually, going quite well. Better than he expected. So there are no rousing musical numbers where the tea and cutlery animate themselves and dance, but he and Stiles are – cool.

 

*

‘This is bullshit,’ Stiles grumbles, crumbs spilling out of his mouth as he taps the page in front of them. ‘So out of character, zero believability. Did this guy get amnesiac somewhere between chapter three and four? Anyone with two brain cells would recognise the shit on this page.’

‘I’m pretty sure I’m the editor,’ Derek says mildly. He sweeps the muffin crumbs off the page and tries not to shriek as Stiles presses closer to him, a hot line from his shoulder to his thigh. They read in silence for a while longer, Stiles letting out the occasional disgruntled huff and Derek flipping the pages, until Nicole calls for Stiles from the backroom.

‘I’ll be back,’ Stiles says, clapping a hand on Derek’s shoulder and squeezing as he stands. ‘I think we just got a shipment of biscotti in.’ He jogs away, almost slams face first into the door, recovers and shoots a finger-gun at Derek before disappearing into the back.

Derek’s not sure what he expected when Stiles told him to come back to Juliette, but it definitely wasn’t this.

He stays everyday for an hour, sometimes two, and Stiles joins him on his lunch break for at least half an hour. He tells him about college at Berkeley, his degree in criminology and his best friend Scott, complains about the upcoming Superman movie, and Derek sits and listens through it all, mostly sort of amused at the constantly moving force that is Stiles. Sometimes Derek bounces ideas off Stiles, suggestions for how to better a manuscript that he’s editing – most memorably, the lesbian romantic comedy novel that’s supposed to be the next big YA hit (‘Everything’s better with lesbians,’ Stiles says sagely, ‘and that’s coming from a more-into-dick dude.’) – and sometimes he’s the guinea pig for the macarons Griffin, the moody high-schooler in the back, bakes.

The point is, they’re friends now, or something like that.

 

*

‘Laundry day?’ Nicole says when he walks in, raising one eloquent eyebrow at his tank top and sweats.

Derek crosses his arms over his chest self-consciously. ‘I came straight from the gym. I’m just here to get some cupcakes, anyway.’

‘They’ll be done in, like, ten seconds,’ Stiles calls, pops his head out from the back to wave at Derek, who smiles gratefully as he takes a seat to wait. He scrolls through emails on his phone for a few minutes and gets distracted texting Cora advice on her prom dress before he realises it’s been a good fifteen minutes since he came in.

‘Just head to the back,’ Nicole says, pouring tea for a table of old women and their romance novels, ‘he probably got distracted looking at Griffin's frosting.'

The backroom’s messier than he expected when he pushes the door open, smells overwhelmingly of cinnamon and sugar. He steps through and stops short at the sound of Stiles’ voice, hides behind a shelf of spices and tries not to feel too creepy.

‘Just kill me now, Scott, I’m not kidding, I am in _severe distress_ – I don’t think you understand! He is in a _tank top._ And _sweatpants._ He should look homeless! He’s a Calvin Klein model, no, don’t hang up, I got the beer you like, buddy, c’mon, I need your support. This is a time of need. I - I think his ears are adorable,’ he whispers. Derek’s arm, dangerously close to a tin of molasses, spasms and sends it rolling across the floor, clanging loudly as it goes.

‘Shit,’ he whispers.

‘Shit,’ Stiles says, with feeling. ‘I’ll see you, man, I gotta go.’

Derek steps out and coughs, cheeks burning as Stiles shoves his phone in his pocket.

‘So you, uh, you heard all that, huh?’

He nods.

Stiles opens his mouth, closes it, and repeats a few times, before launching himself into his spiel. ‘I’m sorry, you can forget all that, we’ll forget it, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable with my feelings or – ’

‘I wanted to lick your freckles,’ Derek says, stupidly. He’s not sure if he’s allowed to say that or not, but there’s a sudden buzzing in his head and he feels like his heart is trying to throw itself out of his body entirely. Stiles gapes at him.

‘I – I stalked your sister on Facebook for photos of you last week?’

‘I used to pick Cora up early at lacrosse games.’

‘I messed up orders because I got caught up thinking about you in glasses,’ Stiles admits. He takes a step closer to Derek, licks his lips.

‘I,’ Derek starts, ‘I couldn’t focus with you there,’ he rushes out, ‘your hands were always, always so distracting, and sometimes you would twist a bottle open and I’d think of those fingers twisting in other places – ’ Stiles groans, a deep, choked sound, and Derek reaches out and pulls him flush against his body. 'You like that?’ he murmurs, and he can feel the full-body eye-roll Stiles gives him, the shudder he doesn’t even try and tamp down as he tips forward into Derek, mouths sealing together.

Stiles tastes like black tea with honey, a hint of frosting on his bottom lip that Derek scrapes his teeth over to get out, wet and warm and so, so loud.

‘Jesus,’ Derek hisses as Stiles moans again, loud and unabashed. His eyes flick open and he grins, moving his hand to the bulge in the front of Derek's pants and squeezing, like they're in a high school locker room all over again. He pushes until Derek’s back is against the wall, then leans in and starts sucking on his tongue, hands pushing past the waistband of his sweats effortlessly. It’s too much, too dry at first, and Derek whines until Stiles takes his hand out and spits, licks, eyes on Derek the whole time.

Derek groans when Stiles’ fingers wrap around his length, slow, leisurely tugs as he digs his fingers into his hips. He fumbles to return the favour, almost rips the zipper in his haste as Stiles jerks him off. 'You feel so good,' he says, helpless against the whimpering sounds Stiles is making as he ruts against him, ‘always knew you would, thought about this, thought about you.’

Stiles moans loudly, pushes his cock against Derek's with an even louder 'Fuck,' and wraps both their hands around it. 'C'mon,' he whispers, intertwining his fingers around Derek's and speeding their pace up. Derek presses impossibly closer, drops to suck and bite at Stiles' neck, scrapes his teeth down the line of his throat before returning to Stiles' mouth. He feels his orgasm approaching as Stiles pants into his mouth, breathy and undone, and speeds up his hand, wants to tip over the edge together -

They come in a series of choked off moans, a high, keening sound that Stiles makes, straight into Derek’s ear, an endless litany of curses from Derek, muffled into Stiles’ neck as he shudders his way through it. ‘Fuck,’ Derek says, still panting, lolling his head on Stiles’ shoulder. The room seems too quiet all of a sudden, loud in its silence now that the wet sounds of skin on skin and muffled grunts are gone.

Stiles grins at him, dopey and sated looking as he catches his breath. ‘That was insane. Wasn’t even best case scenario for hiding in the back, dude.’

Derek smiles before catching himself, hesitates before pulling Stiles closer to him. ‘I live ten minutes from here,’ he says quietly. ‘We could shower – ’

‘- And fuck, properly?’

Derek grins.

 

*

‘I made a tea blend for you,’ Stiles says later, running his fingers through Derek's hair.‘You tasted it, remember?’

Derek hums and pushes his head further into Stiles' hand from where he's resting it on Stiles' chest. ‘It was one of the best cups of tea I’ve ever had.’

‘Yeah?’

Derek props his chin up so he can nod, darts in to press a quick kiss to Stiles' chin.

‘We started selling it. Wanna know what I named it?’

‘I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.’

‘I Want the Dea.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this turned porny and i'm not sure how i'm sorry /o\  
> also my eyes are literally falling shut so i'm giving this a cursory skim and bleeurghak to the rest  
> still on tumblr as [alphaass](http://alphaass.tumblr.com), would still love for you to join!  
> [dammit](http://adagio.com/signature_blend/blend.html?blend=36980&SID) & [moriartea](http://adagio.com/signature_blend/blend.html?blend=19184) are real things; bteasm and i want the d(ea) are not, and this is absolutely a plea for somebody to rectify that situation


End file.
